Not So Much a Hero
by xxXSporkSistaXxx
Summary: ANGSTY! America liberates Poland from Germany's basement, and almost accidentally kills him. read the note, it's Historically accurate


America took one step down the stairs leading down to Germany's basement.

France and England already had Germany in a jail cell, and were writing reprimands.

They appointed America to go "liberate" Poland from the hellhole also known as Germany's basement- where Poland had been held prisoner for the past few months.

America took a deep breath and check his supplies bag.

"Water bottle, food stuff, blanket, and…a cheeseburger for me!"

He grinned at his own joke.

Wait, no. No joking. This was serious- America didn't know how badly off Poland was going to be, and he always need to prepare for the worst.

But really, he thought. How bad could Germany really have been to Poland.

Poland was a decent kid. He did talk funny, and his clothes were a bit strange, but otherwise he was always happy-go-lucky and fun to be around.

America grinned again as he remembered a hilarious joke Poland had told him at the last world conference meeting.

He looked around for a light and found it.

Flick.

The lighting was very poor, and made the big room look dingy.

"Ugh- it smells funny."

Thought America as he descended down the rest of the stairs.

When he reached the bottom, his mouth dropped.

His heart stopped- he could tell that something was not right.

Beakers and flasks filled with weird colored liquids littered one long table in the middle of the room.

Scissors, pliers, and other unnamable metal devices were scattered among the glass objects.

A bathtub was next to the table, and was filled with very dirty water.

The room was freezing cold, and America shivered.

"This is creepy.."

He muttered as he walked alongside the table.

To his right, a door was cracked open slightly.

America couldn't help his curiosity, and Poland could be anywhere in that huge room.

"POOOLLLAANNNNDD!!"

He cried into the empty, dark room.

No answer.

That room smelled funny too.

Gasoline and burnt meat.

"Yuck!"

America stuck out his tongue in disgust and turned back to the main room.

He scaled one of the walls, and made it about 30 feet forward, when he stopped, swearing he heard something.

"Poland?"

He said, barely above a whisper.

He strained his ears-

Yes! There it was, a small sobbing noise, from the corner!

"Poland! It's me! It's America- the hero! I've come to save you! Thank God, cause I was getting worried that you…."

He trailed off as he stopped dead in his tracks.

He had definitely found Poland.

Poland was squished into the corner, his arms shielding his messed up blonde haired head. His legs were drawn up close to his chest, and he was rocking back and forth.

America could see that Poland had blood in his hair, on his arms, and on his pant legs.

Bloody handprints covered the wall behind him, and blood stains covered the floor.

"Poland…"

America said quietly, shocked, as he sank to his knees in front of the fallen country.

Poland lowered his arms slowly, and looked up slowly at America with an expression that the bigger country would never ever forget.

Poland's eyes were bugged out, and completely dull and lifeless- void of their normal smugness.

His face was so drawn and ashen that he seemed to fade into the grey walls.

Cuts and bruises covered his face so badly, and the dark circles under his emerald eyes made him look death-like.

America wanted to run away from that room. He wanted nothing to do with this war.

"Good God…"

He muttered as Poland collapsed forward into his arms.

The boy's clothes were ripped, and hard with dried blood.

America instantly snapped out of his trance.

"Idiot!"

He called himself

American then had Poland lie on his back, in his lap, cradling his head.

"Here's some water…"

America watched as Poland nearly choked himself as he gulped the water down.

"More."

Was all he could croak out.

He closed his eyes and let out a few shaky breaths as America rummaged through his bag for food.

"Here, now eat all of it!"

America handed Poland a handful of bread rolls.

Poland had forgotten just how hungry he was.

He inhaled at least five, and America barely had enough to satisfy his hunger.

As the last roll had been swallowed, America sighed and leaned back.

"It's okay buddy. Let's take a few minutes to rest, and I'll get ya outta here. How does that sound?

Poland??"

He shot back up as Poland began to clutch at his stomach.

"Poland? What's wrong?"

America grabbed Poland's shoulders, but had to let go as the former fell to the floor in gasps.

"MY STOMACH!"

He screamed hoarsely.

It echoed painfully loud in the dead silence.

Poland began to heave, and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

Poor America, he could only watch in horror as Poland nearly died.

"Oh My God, what have I done?"

He whispered as Poland stopped heaving, but clutched his stomach in agony, now kneeling in front of America.

"Oh jeez! I wasn't supposed to give you all that good at once! Oh Poland…"

Poland moaned again-

"I like, think my stomach is ripping in two…"

America could only think to do one thing.

Wrapping Poland in the blanket, he picked him up bridal style, and carried him hurriedly through the room, past the table, and up the stairs.

Poland had gone limp, eye's rolled back in his head, and his dirty matted hair framed his gaunt and bloody face.

America's glasses fogged up with frustrated tears as he rushed the battered nation out of this prison.

Germany and Russia were going to pay for this.

But even that didn't stop America from doubting himself.

Maybe he wasn't so much a hero after all…


End file.
